


There's a Rumor in St. Petersburg

by EmeraldSage



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred's just having a good time, American Revolution, Arthur is not having a good day, Arthur is not having a good week, Bonding through Pranks, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Historical Hetalia, Historical Inaccuracy, Hope you enjoy, Imperial Russia, Ivan is highly entertained by this teenager, Maybe - Freeform, Maybe a tiny puppy crush, Mischief, Pre-Relationship, Rusame Secret Santa 2020, and sabotage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28728627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: There’s a rumor in St. Petersburg that there’s mischief afoot.  With English cursing filling the air, an amused aristocracy, and two young men never too far away from it all.  Well, one young man - the Empress’s advisor - and one particularly odd teenager, with blonde hair and a sunshine smile that seemed to be imported straight from the American colonies.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	There's a Rumor in St. Petersburg

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Imperial Ivan and new country Alfred hanging out safe playful Imperial Ivan and new country Alfred hanging out safe playful 
> 
> Hey hey Cheesecake, I'm your Secret Santa! I hope you like this!!! One of my favorite RusAme moments to contemplate is how they first met and bonded as friends, so I hope I did your prompt justice and I hope you enjoy!!!
> 
> Now, onwards friends, to our favorite boys making mischief for Arthur in the Land of Yesterday!
> 
> ~~And no, that's totally not an Anastasia: the Musical reference, pshhh what~~

The day started out the same way as it had over the course of the last week. With bright and bold English swearing coloring the air blue, sending her and her neighbors exchanging curious glances. At this point, it was less curiosity about what had happened, and more so what the words meant. After the week of constant exposure, they’d picked up on a few of the words, though the handful of fluent English speakers they’d inquired about it only turned red or laughed. It had only made them more curious, especially with the rumors to contend with.

See, there was a rumor going around in St. Petersburg. A rumor that there was mischief afoot. Mischief that resulted in an amused aristocracy swanning around the palace and the marketplaces, alongside the dully embarrassed and intrigued foreigners.

The English cursing had become commonplace amongst the streets of St. Petersburg, what with the mischief following one particular English dignitary around like a cloud of bad luck. It wasn’t particularly malicious mischief, the rumors agreed, it was merely good fun. But it only ever seemed to target the one Englishman, the one with the green eyes and thick brows, who seemed to have an increasingly nasty temper the longer the pranks went on.

He was the target, the rumors agreed, almost unequivocally. But alongside him, there was a pair of young men - one vaguely familiar to all who’d seen him, accompanied by a blond teenager with a bright smile - who were regularly spotted in the area where mischief was about to take place. Whether they were responsible for the mischief in question, the rumors were divided. But their persistent presence did make for good food for thought.

Elena knew this particular rumor better than most, given that she’d seen them herself.

She’d met the odd pair not long ago, when they’d come down to the bustling market and the younger of them had paused by her family’s shop. The elder she’d vaguely recognized, a man she’d often seen around the younger royals when they would take a day to visit the city. Perhaps lesser aristocracy, she mused, or higher staff in the royal household. The younger, however, was a new face, and an inherently curious figure.

He was a brilliant, radiant thing, wheat hair darker than most shades of blond she’d seen, his skin a shade darker than tan, and eyes as bright as the summer sky. He was curious and different, even from the various foreign dignitaries she’d occasionally glimpsed as they paid homage to the Empress.

And he _was_ foreign. She’d pinned him as such the moment he smiled at her in greeting, his Russian accented like a novice speaker. But he was sweet, for all his foreignness, and unfalteringly polite. He was odd - a little too boisterous and bubbly for what she was used to - but he was foreign, and he was kind, so she didn’t dwell on it. 

They wandered around the small storefront, the younger bubbling with questions and compliments for her family’s work, occasionally switching to another language when he stumbled across a word he couldn’t puzzle out as he talked. His blue eyes had lingered on the delicately painted lacquer boxes her father crafted especially for the aristocracy, and the visiting bourgeoisie. He didn’t touch them, though she’d caught the way his fingers twitched, as if they’d yearned to brush across the treated wooden surface. There had been a hint of wistfulness in his eyes that let her know he wouldn’t be purchasing anything that day, so she hadn’t approached him and made the situation awkward for them both.

The other man, who’d returned to linger by the shop’s entrance even as his violet eyes carefully studied the teenager as he explored, had cleared his throat at that point, drawing the younger’s attention.

“Alfred,” he’d said, his Russian native and flawless, even over the younger man’s distinctly foreign name, “we’ll be missed if we don’t return soon.”

The younger - _Alfred,_ her mind noted, and she’d wondered at the name; it sounded English, like the blustery red-vested dignitary she saw every now and then, but she had the oddest feeling that it wasn’t _quite_ \- had drooped, almost comically. She remembered biting back some of her own amusement to keep the smile from her face. 

“So soon?” he’d asked, a certain expression curving his features that reminded Elena distinctly of her little brothers when they were pouting at their mother for another story. It never worked on their mother, too used to the antics of children, and even though the expression had softened the elder man, he had been equally unmoved.

“It can’t be helped,” her countryman said, “I have tea with Arthur soon, and nothing should be amiss. We have to leave soon.”

“Tea,” Alfred snickered, “Poor you. He’s going to rant.”

It was definitely a grimace she’d seen cross the elder man’s face then.

“The sacrifices we make for entertainment,” he sighed, and his younger companion stifled a laugh.

Instead of rolling his eyes like she would have in his position, her countryman turned to her, offering her a nod in thanks for tolerating their presence so long, before offering his arm to the teenager. They’d left then, Alfred bouncing as he lobbied questions and teasing at the elder man as they went. She’d pondered on the curious pair for a while before the shop took her focus.

Later that afternoon, when an angry Englishman was storming around the marketplace, for whatever reason, the pair she’d met earlier came back to her mind. Idly, she’d wondered then, whether they had been the cause of that day’s mischief.

She still wondered now.

“Elena,” her father called her, snapping her out of her memories, “come help me with the inventory.”

“I’m coming,” she called back, slipping back into the shop, tugging her coat tighter around her as the breeze picked up, and pushed all the memories of odd young men, mischief, and rumors out of her mind. For now, at least.

**.**

It would be a good week, Ivan mused, his mind casting back to earlier this morning, as he’d watched his newest acquaintance - a young man he was rapidly becoming fond of - sweet talk a trio of palace maids into giving him the newest bundle of English tea they’d stocked just for one particular, however unwelcome, visitor. One of the many petty pranks he’d been enlisted to help out with, in order to hassle and disrupt Arthur’s trip.

The results of their pranking spree had been more than entertaining, even if it was why he’d sacrificed a precious free afternoon to taking tea with Arthur as a _distraction._

This was certainly not what he’d expected when Catherine had pulled him aside after Arthur’s arrival and designated him as, effectively, America’s babysitter. It was so much more entertaining.

It had helped, he supposed, that the few weeks before Arthur’s arrival had been filled with opportunities to suss out the young teenager. American politics and their diplomats were one thing, but both he and Catherine wanted an understanding of the young nation-to-be. Nations strong of will, grounded and sure of themselves, could touch their people as much as their people could touch them. It wasn’t always a _good_ thing, but it was _certain._ It was something immutable. It would assuage their worries, which Alfred _had_ done.

That he’d been cheerful and charming and _sincere_ had certainly helped. That he hadn’t been frightened, or overly cautious around Ivan - so very different from the majority of Ivan’s European counterparts - helped as well. Ivan had spent most of the first week and a half trying to figure out if it was an act, only to realize that it was real; that the fascination, the curiosity, the friendly overtures - they were _genuine._

He’d almost been furious when a scout from the Western border had come to them in a hurry, reporting a British party on the way. Arthur had arrived unexpectedly, stealing from Ivan the opportunity to learn more about the little nation-to-be, or so he’d thought.

And then, Catherine had pulled him aside, and their plan was spun into being.

Ivan had greeted their unexpected visitor with an arctic politeness, the chill in the air sparking a set of flurries that wasn’t at all unusual in the early spring but made it more than clear how _welcome_ Arthur Kirkland was. As powerful as the British Empire was becoming, Ivan couldn’t realistically entertain the thought of ejecting him from his borders, _especially_ not if Arthur ever realized the guests they were entertaining in the meanwhile.

It was hard to conceal all signs of _exactly_ who had arrived with the American diplomatic party, but not impossible. And even though he’d only known the young colony for a handful of weeks, he was already far more fond of him than he’d ever been of Arthur.

 _“A mischievous ball of sunshine,”_ he remembered Francis remarking once, while they’d been taking a late breakfast together, the Frenchman laughing at something the little American had done in one of Matthew’s letters. _“Smart, and he knows it. Arthur has his hands full with that one.”_

As he’d taken charge of shuttling Alfred around St. Petersburg, making sure they stayed out of sight of the British Empire, he saw the truth to Francis’s words.

There was a sharpness too, of course. The fact that Alfred had survived two weeks of the Empress’s scrutiny and evaded his father’s vast forces on their hunt for him said as much. But there was a _balance_ to his American counterpart, a softness he carried hand and hand with steel in his eyes.

It was a balance that Ivan appreciated in his allies and his friends, however few he had of either. He wondered, idly, as he waited in the parlor for his company, which designation Alfred would take on as he came into himself.

Food for thought, he supposed, catching movement at the corner of his eye.

“Ah, Arthur,” he said, standing as the Englishman made his way into the parlor, nodding to the attendant hovering at the door who’d likely helped him find his way. Arthur looked - _frazzled_ was probably the politest way of putting it. Alfred had definitely been on to something with the effect of his pranks, that was for sure.

Sabotage might be more accurate a word to describe them, actually.

“I was worried you wouldn’t make it,” he continued, as they both sat, an attendant swanning in as if summoned to pour tea and another settling the little nibbles and accoutrements for their tea. Arthur’s lips tugged into a hint of a frown at the distinct lack of his preferred tea selection, but smoothed out his expression a heartbeat later. Ivan ignored it.

“I had to have one of your staff direct me,” the other Empire said, as he doctored his cup of tea.

“Understandable,” Ivan mused, “the palace is quite expansive. I’m sure you’ll adjust given time.”

Arthur stiffened, barb sinking home, and Ivan hid a smile with a sip of tea.

“The staff have informed me that you’ve been having some - _difficulties,_ settling in,” Ivan continued, tone mockingly concerned, violet eyes gleaming, “I do apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Oh pish,” Arthur waved the apology away, even as green eyes burned with annoyance, having caught Ivan’s tone, “It’s hardly your fault, I’m sure.”

That green eyed glare, however, told Ivan very clearly that Arthur knew very well who was behind his _difficulties._ And he was _not. Amused._

 _If only you knew,_ Ivan thought to himself, thoroughly entertained at contemplating what kind of reaction the Empire before him would have if he realized just who was sabotaging him so thoroughly.

“If you wish to inform me of them, I’m sure those - ah, _issues,_ could be rectified,” he offered, smirk curling on his lips. Now, whether Arthur would take the bait or not….

Arthur’s lips curled into a bitten back sneer, “If you don’t _mind,_ Ivan -,”

“I did offer,” he said, leaning back into his chair. And Arthur’s eyes glinted maliciously as he leaned in and took him up on it.

 _“Poor you,”_ Alfred had laughed at him earlier, empathy and a twist of glee gleaming in his eyes, _“He’s going to rant.”_

And _oh,_ Arthur was _ranting._

It was discreet, of course. Pointed barbs and aimless musings with subtle implications that spun the whole story with sharp wool. Arthur was hardly the sort to elucidate in chapter and verse of all the things he found bothersome in a public setting. He’d do it in private, amongst his brothers, or snidely, amongst his nobles as an aside. But most certainly not in front of his host. The British Empire was powerful and growing stronger by the year, but Arthur was not yet so powerful that he could risk alienating his allies abroad.

But, well. Ivan _had_ asked. This was a distraction, after all, and the longer it went, the more thorough Alfred would be able to be.

And who knows? Maybe Arthur would make it entertaining.

He rather doubted it.

A number of hours later, with the sun high in the sky, Ivan rendezvoused with the cheerful American as he waved away his sneaky aide. He offered the young woman a nod as she swept away from them, towards her own duties likely regarding the bundle of laundry she was toting about, before turning back to Alfred.

“Successful, I take it?” he asked, not really needing the answer when the grin he was given was as good as one. Instead of words, he received a beaming grin and a glimpse of what he assumed was Arthur’s emergency tea tin, which was quickly tucked away once they rejoined the busy corridors in order to lie in wait.

Mischief was only half as fun if one didn’t stay around to see the product of one’s mischief.

Settled in an alcove not far from the corridor housing the British diplomats, including one Arthur Kirkland himself, he turned to Alfred with an inquiring expression.

Alfred smirked at him, “Stole his tea and Kass got all his formal wear. It should keep him distracted enough to miss the dinner tonight.”

Which would give the American an hour or two to charm and convince the aristocracy about the benefits of silent support thrown towards his cause. None of the British diplomats had planned to attend, save for Arthur, and now Arthur would be busy and distracted, chasing after his missing things. And it certainly wasn’t an event he could attend in his day livery.

 _Well done,_ he thought, smile curving his lips thoughtlessly.

“So,” he mused, after a moment letting the amusement hang in the air between them, “anything planned for tomorrow, then?”

Alfred turned to him with a small grin, “You said you could take me to the Free Russian Theatre tomorrow, right?”

Ivan’s smile widened, “Yes, the troupe is playing there tomorrow night,” he said, pleased that the teeanger had remembered the offer from earlier in his stay. Especially since Alfred would be leaving in a few days. “I suppose Arthur wouldn’t mind a day off from your mischief,” he mused, only for Alfred to snicker.

“Oh no,” the teenager said, grin curving his lips, “I grabbed Arthur’s pocketbook too, so he’ll be looking for that tomorrow when his clothes reappear tonight but that doesn’t.”

Ivan snorted. _Smart kid, indeed._

It had been a very long time since Ivan had had someone to consider a friend. He knew that the risks were high, the situation highly unstable. Knew that the teenage colony before him might falter and fail, and their current relationship would falter with it. But if he succeeded, if this bright, brilliant young colony could change the world the way he believed he could, then… well. He felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips, watching the glee on the teenager’s face grow as British swearing became audible all the way down the corridor.

He could look forward to growing used to this.

**.**

Her country was making mischief, Kassidy thought, with an amused twist curving her lips as the whispers of fresh gossip caught her ear. The smile was hidden quickly, as she reminded herself of her disguise. Smiling was intimate, and in as polite a culture as Russia’s, the halls of Catherine the Great were not the place to be seen doing so. Much less as a maid.

She usually knew better. But Alfred’s full, genuine laughter had become a rare thing to witness as the war dragged on, and here, she could still catch the echoes of it in the halls. Here, thousands of miles from her native shores, she could feel the warmth of it down to her bones, even with the heavy chill of the early spring day this close to the arctic circle. 

It made every tedious little thing she did to keep her cover worth it.

They’d considered having her go as his aide and guard, like she’d done in Paris, but the idea had been shot down, hard. There had been too many eyes on their cover identities in New York as of late, and there would be even more when they returned from their months long travel disguised as Alfred’s cover visiting his ill mother. If someone - like the British company that had decided to surprise visit the Russian court and terrified half the Americans present - pinned her as Adam, then Alfred’s own cover would be compromised. That was out, and going as a woman - and not someone’s wife - in an entirely male diplomatic group would be the _height_ of scandal, so a maid she would be instead, taken in by the handful of Ivan’s own spies within his court to be taught.

It wasn’t _bad,_ by any means. In fact, Ivan’s spies had taken her in gleefully, teaching her all the essential little things people would never know unless you’d worked in a royal court. And particularly, how useful they were for spying on others.

Any Royal Court was a viper’s nest, they’d cautioned her, so she just had to learn how to be a hidden one. And to teach those tricks and trade to those who would come after her.

No, that she enjoyed. It was the tedium and exhaustion of chores, the haughtiness of the aristocracy that dragged at her. It was like France all over again, only this time she didn’t have an excuse to stay near Alfred.

Speaking of Alfred, though…

She smiled and didn’t bother to hide it this time, as the rush came over her the moment she caught sight of the grinning blue-eyed nation waiting for her in the shadows of the corridor. The everchanging, unmistakable feeling of _home_ swept over her, grounding her, her smile growing impossibly warm as he grinned at her. It wasn’t always like this for others who _knew,_ never a constant reminder, a thrum in the marrow of their bones, or a pulsing alongside the drumbeat of their heart. But for her, it was always the same, always ever changing. And she would never get tired of _knowing,_ soul deep, who he was.

“Mornin’ Kass,” he said, in English, voice low and soft, but there was excitement in his eyes. He looked windswept, likely as not having just gotten in from whatever morning adventures he and Ivan got up to. 

“Mornin’ Al,” she chimed back, relishing the sound of her native language on her tongue, “We’re secure then?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, grin growing bright and mischievous, “Ivan’s distracting Arthur and the rest of them are at brunch.”

_Perfect._

They slipped into the wing where the British envoy was staying silently and completely unremarked. It was glorious. They walked confidently, unhesitant, as if they knew exactly where to go. She supposed Alfred actually did.

They trailed into one corridor in particular, Alfred making a beeline for the room on the far end of the hall, hand automatically going to his boot where he’d tucked away a little metal tool she’d seen him use a time a plenty to pick locks. A few seconds later, the door clicked, and Alfred pushed it open. They slipped inside soundlessly, the door shutting behind them, and exchanged looks.

“You’ll take the wardrobe?” he said.

She grinned, “And you’ll take the trunks.” And with that, they split.

She headed straight for the massive wardrobe, ignoring for a minute the fancy outfit splayed across the bed to be ironed and steamed, metallic adornments ready to be polished until they gleamed. She didn’t limit herself to the fancy stuff, grabbing anything that looked remotely wealthy and gilded enough for the Imperial Court to approve of, including a pair of formal shoes she tucked into the outfit and rolled to make it easier to transport. She even grabbed a handful of belts she’d seen.

When Alfred reappeared with his own bundle of clothes, tucking something she didn’t catch into his jacket, she saw that they’d had the same idea. Only, Alfred hadn’t just gone after the belts, he’d nicked the buckles off of _everything._

They exchanged grins, and she set to work straightening out their pile into something she could carry downstairs, using the convenient basket set just inside the door. Alfred meandered through the halls, eyes narrowing in thought as he seemed to be looking for something.

“I suppose I’ll be taking the clothes, then,” she mused, more a statement than a question. It would make sense, of course, to have a maid taking a bundle of laundry down to be taken care of. “So what’re you snoopin’ around for?”

He shot her a mischievous smirk, “Arthur’s tea stash,” he said, “He _always_ brings a tin of his favorites on diplomatic trips, for the stressful days. It ain’t a big one, since most places stock English blends when he comes to visit out of _courtesy.”_ He scoffed, smirk curving into a grimace, mind cast away at some memory older than she was, fingers stilling in their search.

He blinked out of it a second later, offering her an apologetic smile at the sudden twist of mood, but it lingered in the air. It was moments like these that drove home to her that for Alfred it wasn’t just his _Empire_ he was rebelling against, it was his _father._

She didn’t say anything when he found it a few minutes later, fingers running across the surface of the slim box like they’d done it a hundred times. Instead, she suggested they head out. She’d heard the chime of the hour go off at least once during their search.

He hummed, “Ivan should be about done entertaining the old man,” he said, contemplative.

 _Ivan, hmm?_ She thought, feeling the smile tug at her lips. They’d become fast friends, and everyone could tell. That was good, she knew. Alfred needed friends. Friends like _him,_ nation-kin outside of his family. She would be there for him, of course, as would everyone who came after her. She was his aide - his _first_ aide - and she loved him, just like all those who came after would. But she wouldn’t live forever, and he needed that.

 _This was a good thing,_ she told herself, and hoped it would be true.

They slipped from the suite as soundlessly as they’d entered, Alfred fiddling with the lock enough to relock it from the outside so Arthur wouldn’t be suspicious. Well, until he got inside, at least. Moving quickly through the silent hallways, she almost jumped when she realized there was someone waiting for them.

 _Ivan Braginsky_ was reclined against the wall, the Russian Empire waiting on them to rendezvous and escort Alfred away before Arthur could catch sight of him. She felt her heart warm as Alfred lit up at the sight of their waiting companion in mischief, and returned the Empire’s nod once she’d bid Alfred a grin goodbye.

Settled once more into the role of a watcher, Kassidy watched her country as he smiled and bit back laughter; as he clung, laughing silently, to the taller nation in a fashion wholly unusual to his usual manner around the others of his kind. She watched the ghost of a smile curl on the usually stoic nation’s lips, a glimmer of _something_ \- amused, or fond, she couldn’t pin it down - shining in his eyes as he contemplated the wheat-haired nation at his side.

 _Yes,_ she thought, _this was a good thing._

She resettled the laundry at her hip and set off to complete the remainder of the chores she’d been assigned, smile tucked away with her name and her mission in the depths of her heart. And if, as she went about her tasks, she happened to glimpse her nation and his new ally as they made mischief for the red-coated Empire, well.

It couldn’t be helped. She was just doing her job, after all.

**.**

It was early. It was some god forsaken hour before dawn, with the street lights still dim and the streets quiescent, almost lethargic, with the spell of sleep woven heavily across the city. Or at least, Alfred mused, that was what it _appeared_ to be.

Under the cover of the inky pre-dawn hours, Alfred and his diplomats had been quickly and subtly relocated from their lodgings near the palace. Their luggage had already been moved ahead of time, and their transportation was ready to go.

It was time for them to head home. Alfred hadn’t been putting it off, per say, but he’d revelled a little too much in tweaking Arthur’s nose with all their pranks, in bonding so strongly with another nation that he hoped one day soon to call _friend,_ that he’d almost grown accustomed to the sigh and swell and furor of his people’s fight itching at the corner of his awareness. Almost able to ignore it, so divided had his attention been these past few weeks. As much as one could ignore it, anyways, when it was the reason he was here.

The Revolution waited for no one. Not even him. But he knew would feel more at ease once he returned home, nonetheless. Once he settled again, in his own skin, on his own land.

But even still, he would miss this.

And curiously enough, Alfred acknowledged, he would miss _him._

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, turning to his quietly watching companion, “you’ve been kind and welcoming, and I won’t forget it.”

Ivan didn’t smile, but his eyes were warm. Alfred wondered idly at how quickly he’d picked up on how to read the other nation. Wondered at what it meant that Ivan let him.

The Empire inclined his head, “It was my pleasure,” he said, and Alfred smiled at the sincerity in his tone. 

There was a long moment of silence that followed, as Ivan studied him, contemplative, “You are not what I expected from Arthur Kirkland’s wayward child,” he said, tilting his head slightly, as if to acknowledge the folly of that assumption from so long ago. “That was my mistake.”

Alfred arched a brow, “You wouldn’t have been the first to make it,” he said, the line of nations who’d outright laughed when they met him and heard his pleas was too long as it paraded through his mind unbidden. Too long and just as infuriating. He appreciated the honesty, though, “I take it that’s a good thing.”

Ivan’s lips quirked, “It is. 

Silence took them again, eyes casting back to watch the crew packing. Diplomats having final conversations with each other and their counterparts there to see them off.

Ivan was quiet for another long moment, studying him, before he spoke, “We cannot aid you,” he said softly, voice unyielding. “Not the way you wish us to. Great Britain is becoming too much of a threat.”

Alfred smiled nonetheless, “You _are_ helping us,” he countered, his happiness bright and effusive, “Even if it’s not outright. The First League of Armed Neutrality will counter the British blockades without inviting Arthur’s wrath upon you.”

And Arthur’s wrath was, indeed, a fearsome thing, even when he knew the Empire had yet to truly grow into the peak of his power. Alfred had seen it both as it was visited upon others, as a child witnessing his father’s fury, and turned towards him, when his rebellion became too much to bear for his father’s already limited tolerance. Even now, he knew, Arthur had not thrown the full weight of his fury upon Alfred’s people, still thinking of mending relations once the colonies had been brought to heel.

Alfred had no intentions of being _brought to heel._ But he was not _naïve._

The Empress had denied the British Empire back in 1775, refusing the armed alliance with them that would’ve allowed Arthur to crush his revolution before it even truly began. His army was young, scrappy, and hungry to prove themselves against the world and win themselves free, and Alfred loved them. But he wasn’t blind to the position they were in. His rag-tag bunch was holding the line, _barely,_ against the British. And that was with him up to his eyeballs in debt, and the unsubtle aid of other, circling Empires that only wanted to stick it to the British. Empires he might have to fend off after the Revolution was won - and it _would_ be won, Alfred had no other options that he would tolerate - but which were also a problem for _later._ Had the Empress not denied the British then, as she was now, he would’ve been crushed.

Alfred was a dreamer when he could choose to be, he’d admit. But he was ruthlessly pragmatic, when it came down to the wire. His people needed both sides of him. And both sides could look at the situation as it was, and acknowledge the reality.

He knew the Empress had established the Principles of Neutrality out of her own irritation at the British seizing Baltic goods heading for France. But that it had articles that would directly protect any American goods travelling the seas was enough, especially with all the countries already considering signing onto it.

Any check on the British Navy would help them.

They sunk into a quiet contemplation once again, watching the quiet hustle and bustle of their peoples working together to prepare for departure. This time, neither of them disturbed it for a while, content in their introspection.

Content with the relationship they’d established during the trip. The foundations for something yet to come.

Alfred was a dreamer, and the dreams he dreamt were grand and glorious indeed. Freedom, of course, and the bounty of the world opening up for him to explore, to know, to satiate the burning curiosity that drove him at his heart. The burning drive that pushed him towards his people’s rallying cry, towards their pleas and demands for freedom that Arthur refused him. He dreamt big, and he knew that, realistically, he was too young to know for sure how he would grow from this. How his dreams would materialize.

But he hoped, one day, that when they did, Ivan would be there in them. As a friend, undoubtedly. This trip hadn’t just taught Alfred the values of his alliances, but demonstrated to him and the Russian Empire himself that friendship wasn’t an impossible feat between them both. Something he hoped would grow once Alfred came into his own. Once he was _free._

And if, one day, Ivan was there as _more_ than just a friend…

 _No,_ he forced the thought away before it sprawled across his face. No, Alfred couldn’t afford to think like that. No matter that the elder nation had his respect and his admiration, and that there was, perhaps, a hint of the _potential_ that cast his mind back to how George explained romance and love to him when Alexander had started acting like a lovelorn sop over Eliza.

Alfred was not yet free, and was far too young still. He would have time for things like that with others later. So this was one thing he would not have, for now. Not even the thought of it.

And Ivan was a _friend._ Their potential was so strong, their bond solidified in their similarities as much as their differences, sealed in the mischief they’d partook in together. He wasn’t going to risk that over a thought-that-shouldn’t-be.

He turned to Ivan, pushing the thoughts away, and grinned, “You’ll have to come visit,” he said, smile bright even in the darkness shrouding them, “So I can show you around. Return the favor.” Ivan might appreciate the sunflower fields, he considered, mind already plotting the trip. Even if he had to sneak the other man across the mountains and out to the stretch of land his colonists didn’t claim, up by that arbitrary border his colonizer had drawn, as if a line could prevent Alfred from being every inch of the land his mother had passed into his keeping.

Ivan’s look was appraising, the smile Alfred was offered sharp and expectant. But his eyes were warm. “After you’ve won,” the Empire said, and Alfred felt his own smile sharpen at the edges, deeply satisfied at the unhesitant confidence in the other man’s tone, “I will expect the invitation.”

Alfred grinned, just in time to hear the call go out for their departure. He blinked, turning to catch all the diplomats slipping into their assigned coaches.

“I guess this is goodbye for now,” he chirped brightly, grabbing hold of that certainty in Ivan’s voice and holding it close.

Ivan offered him a final nod, “Safe travels, little America.”

He grinned, before bouncing off with more energy that he’d ever had this early in the morning, tucking himself into the coach that waited for him, before something popped into his mind.

“Oh,” he said, stopping abruptly, before poking his head out the door to face the other nation one last time, “by the way, if Arthur asks, you have absolutely no idea how all his redcoats were bleached pink. None whatsoever.” He whirled away, tucking himself into the coach just in time for it to move.

He bid St. Petersburg a fond farewell to the sound of the Russian Empire’s laughter, echoing in the near-empty streets.

It would be a long journey just to get to the nearest port, he knew, making himself comfortable. The Neva had frozen in December, and Ivan had warned him in their early correspondence that it would not crack until April at the earliest. They’d had to arrange to travel through Prussia, where Gil was waiting for him to return, having left General Von Steuben behind in the states to handle things for him. His mentor almost had a coronary when he’d heard Alfred had planned to join the diplomatic trip to Russia, only barely assuaged by the fact they would be as discreet as possible. 

Still, he’d wanted to go. He’d been to a number of other countries, entreating them to his cause. It was worth it, every time, so onwards he would go. Always.

 _Onwards, then,_ he mused brightly, letting the first rays of the cresting sun soak him in warmth down to the bone, _to freedom._

A gleam of silver at their side window called back the memory of the strong figure of the Russian Empire standing at his side, the laughter in the air behind him, the delighted joy that raced through him at the way the imposing nation had smiled and said, _“After you’ve won,”_ as if it was already guaranteed, and amended his thought.

_To freedom, and to friendship. And everything that comes on the way._

**end.**

**Author's Note:**

>  _screams in silent relief_
> 
> It is done!!! And I hope it was done well!!!


End file.
